Granger Who
by Sarshi
Summary: Have you ever realized that all you know about Hermione is what she said about herself and what she did in front of others? And that the trio is much too lucky for it to be natural?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own nothing.

Chapter 1

"If you dare say _Ravenclaw_, my dear, I predict that you a soon and dire death. And it would be _such_ a pity, after 1000 years, eh?"

"Actually, Rowena... Miss Ravenclaw... I was about to say _Slytherin_."

"Not on your life."

"Hufflepuff?"

"Try again."

"Then it had better be... GRYFFINDOR!"

"Wise hat."

"One can never be too... wise... around you."

McGonagall took the Sorting Hat off her head and she rushed at the Gryffindor table with delight. She had been _many_ things before, but never a Gryffindor. The Hat had insisted on placing her in her own House for the first dozen times or so, until she decided she had had too much of it, _thank you very much_. Then it had been Slytherin – a new and exciting experience. And once or twice, Hufflepuff – a new and unexciting experience.

She sat down at the lion's table and occupied herself with plans on how to take the lion's share of the food when it finally appeared. She was _hungry_. No surprise there, though. She hadn't eaten for awhile and then there had been that young, adorable fool who'd lost his frog and she hadn't been able to buy anything for herself when the lady with the sweets went by. And, a new pretense always made her hungry.

"Hi," she said to one of the red-haired boys in front of her. Weasley, probably. One was always safe with Weasleys. "I'm Hermione Granger. How do things work around here?"

It was a safe question, one that any first-year might ask and that she wanted answered for some rather different reason than one might expect. She could've asked "how's my school going?" but that was always a bad idea. As expected, he launched into a long explanation about classes, electives, grades, teachers – she was actually quite attentive as he described them all – sports, stairs, portraits, ghosts, dormitories and the library. At the end of that, she nodded, pleased, and thanked him. Meanwhile, the Sorting finished and she couldn't help but notice that the Potter boy – Harry, she reminded herself – was a Gryffindor. It was to be expected. And he was very much stared at. Something to be expected yet again. As the first years talked amongst themselves about magic and Hogwarts and the excitement of being in a _magical school_, she resumed her questioning of the Weasley – Percy.

"I do hope they start right away, there's so much to learn," she said, getting used to her know-it-all, overexcited, fabricated personality. First year. She would have to act like a first year. Not that she hadn't done it before. "I'm particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course, it's supposed to be very difficult-"

"You'll be starting small," he cheered her up. "Just matches into needles and that sort of thing. Only then will you move on to greater things."

She nodded, pleased. Yes, things were as usual. Easy, then more and more difficult as time passed. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Harry Potter slap his hand against his forehead, over his scar. How odd. No, how _fishy_. That was the word. She was about to ask him what was wrong, when Percy decided to ask that question. Well, that was alright, she could listen.

"N-nothing," Harry Potter stuttered. It was clear that it wasn't _nothing_. "Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?"

Aaah, the cause of the pain seemed to be one of the teachers, eh? Hermione Granger (once upon a time Rowena Ravenclaw and then many, many other people) almost leaned back to listen in more comfortably. Luckily, she remembered that even though times had changed and many things had been invented, the seats in the Great Hall still had no backs. Why, if she were still in charge... But she wasn't. She smiled to herself.

"...he teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to -- everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape," Percy was saying.

Hermione glanced up. Hm. She knew _some_ of the faces. Yes, she knew about Severus Snape and his failed love for Lily Evans... And there was McGonagall, looking as stern as ever. Dumbledore! He was the test, perhaps he would recognize her this time around. He was older, maybe wiser. Maybe not. He was a troubled and troublesome individual. Oh, his air of great knowledge and benevolence was as fake as her eleven-year old body and prefabricated story of dentist-born. He was passionate and tempted by power, cunning and manipulative. And much too perceiving at times. She would have to be very careful when she moved about him. Luckily, it wasn't in the nature of the Headmaster to do much fraternizing with students. And yet – to send him hints of things that were clear enough to carry her meaning, obscure enough to hide her interference. It would be difficult and complex. But she was not _the_ Ravenclaw for nothing.

Another round of The Game was coming up and she was the only player that needed to be taken into consideration. How nice. But even if there were no other players, the obstacles and dangers more than made up for the lack of them.

"Ahem."

She jumped to attention. Dumbledore was making a speech.

"Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

She tried to look serious and warned as he said that.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry Potter laughed. _She_ didn't. It wasn't likely that the old wizard would be throwing around such dreadful speeches for nothing. Her eyes narrowed – what was the man hiding there, and so obviously? Alas, there was no answer. She nearly jumped in surprise when they were required to sing the _school song – _when had _that_ happened? And then she noticed the professor's grimaces and realized it was one of the _Headmaster's_ impossible innovations. Well! She sort of half-rapped, half-invented a tune, having no patience with the song and noting how the entire Great Hall resounded with a rather desperate, almost musical, terrible noise. She hoped somebody would talk him out of that experiment for the future.

They went to their dormitories, interrupted only by Peeves, who had been there since... 1784? Something like that and she revised inside her head: illusion charms, to make her books look like textbooks – she already knew all magic there by heart. Anything that slipped her lips about the past or Hogwarts would be referenced to "Hogwarts: A History", better called "The Most Boring and Complicated History of Hogwarts One Could Ever Read". Nobody ever read it, so she should be safe, no matter what she said. If she slipped about magical theory, she would refer vaguely to "a book". _She_ had barely read it. Pointing out to Dumbledore that something was amiss and that Voldemort had horcruxes – also pointing out their locations, as far as she'd been able to figure them out. And, of course, she had to change a few things about the school. She also had to remember to be a stuck-up know-it-all, so people would go away and let her do her work in peace. But that part was _fun_.

With all those things in mind, she managed to tiredly smile at the little girls that she shared her bedroom with and then went to bed. It would be a full few years, she was sure of it.

Xxx

AN: Please review! They even made a special button for it!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I still don't own anything.

AN: Thanks to all those who reviewed! * blows kisses *

Chapter 2

Well, Hermione felt horribly amused by her performance – as usual. School was damned fun when you knew _everything_ they taught in it. Or mostly everything, anyway. She wasn't entirely sure how Muggle studies went these days... So, she stuck her nose in books and acted like a first-grade know-it-all, meanwhile enjoying some very interesting books she had meant to catch up on. Like re-reading some Dickens (ok, that wasn't something interesting to _catch up on_, but meh) and finding out what that Anais Nin woman was all about. Mind you, reading steamy novels (the latter writer's) under one's desk was probably breaking some sort of moral rule – but nobody would check to see if an eleven year-old was doing something like that. Aaah, safe. For a few years, at least. But she had to be careful nonetheless.

So, she happily went to classes, noticed that Binns was still around (and going on and on about the same things as always) and started writing for some of her own random projects under the guise of taking notes. She couldn't really decide what to do first, though... But Binns? Dead men told no interesting tales. At least, Binns didn't.

She "ooh"-ed and "aah"-ed in all the right places in Herbology. She promptly transfigured her match into a needle in Transfiguration, then remembered that she wasn't supposed to be _that_ good yet, so she altered it to look more like a match. She nearly whistled innocently as Mac G. passed by her.

But the first shock she got was in Potions. Snape. She remembered _him_... He'd been a kid when she'd last been in Hogwarts. Younger than her – well, that much was obvious. Younger than her pretended age, too. She wondered in passing what he would do if she were to admit to being that girl that he'd admired so much, the _Slytherin_ in her fifth year when he was in his first. Would he be so entirely... a bastard and fright if he knew? She'd love to catch up on things with him, make him some tea, like she used to and...

Meh. She couldn't go all protective and motherly on him _now_, could she? So, back to know-it-all it was. She raised her hand when he asked a question and waved it around in what she hoped passed for too much youthful exuberance. She was a _show-off_ now. _Not_ a Slytherin queen with elegance and nobility on her side, who could easily wrap any colleague around her little finger. She was also _not_ the woman who had, immediately after finishing Hogwarts, published a book on sex tricks and spells. She waved her hand even harder, trying to repress a giggle, as Snape tortured the Potter boy. And then she stood up, wanting to see how Snape would react to _that_. Was she overdoing it?... Nah.

"I don't know," said Harry quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"

Oh, wrong move, Potter. Dead wrong. But funny. She tried to find the decency to blush and sat down.

The class moved on as cheerful as ever – which meant, not really cheerful at all. And she pretty much spent her time day-dreaming and doing things mechanically while the others un-mechanically screwed things up all around her.

Her first real challenge came during the flight lessons. She couldn't decide whether she _should_ know how to fly. She _knew_ it, of course, but she'd never been terribly good at sports. Flying was wonderful, but she couldn't catch or hit or do anything with any ball whatsoever. And she was a Muggle, brooms were supposed to be merely cleaning instruments for her.

She soon decided to declare herself afraid of heights. More free time. School, repeated over and over soon got tiresome, despite the know-everything-already fun factor, and she wanted to do some stuff of her own. Some research, some reading, some prowling about. That sort of thing. And, 'sides, even know-it-alls had to have their weak points.

A fight broke loose between Slyths and Gryffs while she was spacing out and she had a sudden teacherly urge to box the guilty parties' ears. Malfoy and Potter. History repeated – except last time it had been Potter against Snape. So, brats ran in the family and the Potions episode of rudeness hadn't been an accident. Good to know. And if only they could stop going into fanatic-mode around him. She saw Malfoy mount his broom and Potter getting ready to follow. This might end up with broken wrists, legs or worse, so she decided to step in.

"No!" she shouted. "Madam Hooch told us not to move – you'll get us all into trouble."

'And break your little scrawny neck while you're at it,' she thought. 'Malfoy has practice, Potter. You don't. Surely you see that.'

But, of course, Potter ignored her. _Boys_. Malfoy threw the... something, Potter caught it quite spectacularly, rushing down towards it, tumbling on the grass – all that. He was safe. And a hero. Hermione rolled her eyes, but grudgingly admitted to herself that _sports_ apparently also ran in the family along with brat-ism. McGonagall appeared right then and there, with all the authority of a stern Transfiguration professor. Hermione nodded to herself, proudly. This was her Minerva Mac G., alright. She dragged Potter away. Very good. Professional.

So, while she had to wait for Hooch to get back and the class to start again so she could prove to suck at it badly and be excused from the rest of the course, she thought about her darling projects. She should consider and organize them. What did she want to do first? Research the history of Japanese magic further and write that book about it? No, it was interesting, but not _that_ interesting. And she'd have to magic her books around a lot, since she wasn't supposed to even think about other magic right now, never mind research roots of magical practices in other places. _That_ was a project that had to wait. Then how about finally learning enough to become a Potions Mistress? No, too early and she needed to do the practical part for it – and she didn't have where to do that and the necessary materials.

So she came to the conclusion she had _wanted_ to come to from the beginning – she wanted to write _that_ novel. A wonderful story about a witch and several wizards and power games and, of course, steamy scenes every now and then. All elegantly done, in the style of Isabel Allende for romance and some fantasy novel she'd read not long ago for power games. Tales of Passion and Power – working title only.

After all, one needed a break from research, right?...

But she didn't get it, it proved very soon after that. Potter and the little Weasley were _troublesome_. Not only had Mac G. _not _punished Potter for his stunt, she'd given him a place on the team. Talk about playing favorites. And now, he was at it again. Wanted to have a duel against Malfoy and the gang. She tried to stop the little brats from getting into trouble again, but then realized that the most they could probably do would be to poke each other in the nose with their wands. And then she realized that Malfoy might have heard some really big nasties from his family, so she tried to stop them again, then gave up again – and finally ended up locked out of her bedroom late at night, along with Potter, Weasley and Longbottom, who was very good at being at the wrong place at the wrong time.

'_Fuck it_,' she thought. 'There goes my peaceful night of writing. Again. Well, at least I don't have an older body, other urges and other plans. That would've been frustrating.'

So she reluctantly went with them. And of course, Malfoy didn't show up – but Filch did. '_Fuck schoolboys_,' she thought. It would be so undignified to be caught by _Filch_ and chastised.

And, amidst a lot of running, they ended up exactly where Dumbledore had told them not to go – which she didn't realize until they ended up face to face with a three-headed dog the size of an elephant. That was the moment when her starting-the-routine-again hype wore off, quickly and suddenly. There was something very wrong there. _Horribly_ wrong.

It was huge and ugly and everything she had quite forgotten a Cerberus was. All of its three heads had woken up from a peaceful sleep and it was starting to bare its teeth at them. She gulped, barely registering that the others had no clue what was happening yet. Sharp, huge teeth. Paws that could hit any one of them against the wall at such force that they would die instantly – and under one paw, a trap door. But her attention was caught more by the throats – big enough to swallow them whole. She slowly reached towards her wand, but then the others realized what was going on and opened the door again. They tumbled outside.

She shivered and took a deep breath. Cerberus. In the school. Then she ran with the others towards Gryffindor Tower. Fear could be read on all their faces – including hers. But she had a different reason for fear than them. She could've beaten the dog – she was sure she could've. But... It wasn't supposed to be there. What was Dumbledore playing at, putting a monster so close to students?... What was his plan?... What was he hiding?... What indeed was he so desperately hiding that he was willing to put kids in potential danger for it? It had to be something great and dangerous – but for the life of her, she couldn't think what. She fell into an armchair, thoughtful, her mind racing, going through all sorts of possibilities – a Deathly Hallow? She was sure Dumbledore had one, if anybody did. Or the Lost Sword of Gryffindor – but no, why hide those?... Who would steal the Sword?... And the Hallows were quite easy to hide, especially since not many people _believed _in them. Something _big_ and _famous_, something people _knew_ he had, then. But what? _She_ didn't know him to have anything.

"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" said Weasley, mirroring her own thoughts. "If any dog needs exercise, that one does."

She gave a huff. Were they blind?

"You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" she snapped. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?"

"The floor?" Potter said, annoyed and she scowled at him. Bratling. "I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads."

"No, not the floor," she snarled, wishing they could see the obvious that was so clear to her, it was unbelievable they could have missed it. "It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something."

Then she realized she hadn't really meant to say that. Why disclose Dumbledore's little secret to eleven year-olds? _Why_? 'Rowena, my dear,' she heard Godric's voice in her memories. 'You are the stupidest genius I've ever met.' She stood up, glaring at them.

"I hope you're pleased with yourselves," she spat, not liking her little slip _at all_. "We could all have been killed – or worse, exp-elled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."

She stormed off. That was the second one. 'Or worse, exposed,' she'd almost said. She'd nearly done it again. A slip of her tongue. A foolish mistake. Unworthy of her. '_Rowena_, my _dear_...' She heard Weasley's voice behind her.

"No, we don't mind. You'd think we dragged her along, wouldn't you."

She could care less. She was a fool. Nearly exposing herself like that. For what? A Cerberus in her school. Worse had happened – the Chamber of Secrets all those years ago, when she'd been gone from the school, not keeping a close eye upon it. What a time to go off on vacation! Or the Murders of 1792, when she'd barely managed to find out that the Muggle Studies professor was actually an anti-magic wizard. Imagine that. He'd planned to kill all wizards and then commit suicide. A _very_ faulty plan – the man had been insane. The air-raids during the World War, that had ruined a part of the Forest and other such things. And now, for a Cerberus, she'd almost gotten herself in trouble. Not a big, big lot of trouble, but...

Calm, my dear Hermione. Calm.

How strange that she sometimes still thought of Godric so intensely that she could almost hear his voice in her head. A thousand years before! He felt like a ghost, only half-real now. If magic books and their own diaries hadn't recorded it all, by now she'd start wondering if it had all been real or not. If perhaps she _was_ delusional. But now, all she really wondered was if _her_ Godric, that she talked to in her head, wasn't perhaps very different from the real one. She thought of him as a broad-shouldered, brave, laughing man with long, reddish curls and no table manners. Like a Weasley, of sorts. Would she even recognize him now, if he somehow appeared before her? Probably not, but it was best not to dwell on these things and imagine that her memory was brilliant. Acute. That it really was as if he had only died yesterday.

'So what's Dumbledore hiding, my dear?' she asked of him, as she slid into her bed and put a silencing charm so none of her sounds or rustling of pages could be heard outside.

'Oh, I have _no clue_,' she imagined Godric replying. 'But _or worse, expelled_?'

As she reconsidered her manner, she realized how absolutely in character that line had been. And laughed.

Xxx

Please review! It's so nice if you do and it encourages me to write more!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I still don't own anything.

AN: I'd like to thank all of you who reviewed and to say I'm sorry I didn't update for so long, but... it's a long story, concerning school, internet, an original novella and Why You Should Always Think Twice Before Promising Anything. And so on.

Chapter 3

"Severus, I'd like you to meet Rowena," Albus introduced them.

They were in his very cozy office and Severus didn't like coziness much. Neither did he like the situation. At all. He scowled.

"_Rowena_?" he asked.

"Yep," she answered with a grin. "My parents were absolutely mad, I know. They wanted a flashy name, something... _antique_. So they chose a true Founder's Name. It's guaranteed to have been in the language since at least 961. That's something, isn't it?"

"Why didn't they just choose _Mary_? That one is in the Bible and it belongs to somebody _famous_ enough." It was meant to be a sarcastic comment, but she didn't seem to notice. After all, somebody had decided that the definition of sarcasm is _that thing which people keep not noticing_.

"They were afraid I'd take after Magdalene," she replied with a grin. "Same with Eve. I'm still grateful they gave up on _Moisa_."

"...Moisa?..."

"They thought it'd make a splendid female version of Moses."

"How splendid to see the two of you agree already!" Dumbledore said, his usual twinkle in his eye, knitting his elegant fingers together in a figure of perfect innocence. "Severus, I'm sure you can show her around, then?"

The younger man glared at the Headmaster, expressing his desire to see the older man cremated before his very eyes.

"Of course," he replied.

"Well, then, I guess this is goodnight to both of you."

"Goodnight, Mr. Dumbledore," Rowena said, enthusiastically. "Hogwarts seems so exciting."

"Be careful not to let yourself be seen."

"At this time of night?... Of course not. But if I am, I can just pass myself off as _his_ romantic interest, right?" she winked, then followed Snape who was halfway down the stairs out of the Headmaster's office already. She caught up with him quickly, then fell into step with him. Well, Dumbledore didn't suspect a thing. And she liked the idea of calling herself after herself. Just so she wouldn't forget her real name too soon. It would feel nice to be called Rowena, even if by only a few people.

Her roommates would never guess she was gone. After all, she'd taken care to hide her tracks through very careful non-first-year magic. Anyway, she liked her new look. She was medium-height, pale, with black, short hair and green eyes. She felt almost like herself again.

"He's so fucking exhausting," she said wearily to Snape, who threw her a look of surprise. "Or bloody exhausting, this is _Britain_, after all."

"Who?"

"Dumbledore," she answered with a shrug and a very normal tone of voice which she knew contrasted perfectly with what he'd seen in the headmaster's office.

"He didn't seem to bother you a few minutes ago."

"Yeah, well. I like to keep guarded around him. After all, if I was keeping a secret like _you're_ keeping _yours_..."

He turned towards her, suddenly on his guard and growled, "what _about_ my secrets, Rowena?..."

She threw him a half-smile to prove that she was _not_ amused and _not_ intimidated. "You're not hiding them well enough. A secret is only truly hidden when nobody suspects it's there. Otherwise, people like Dumbledore are very careful to try and worm it out of you. Whereas you are screaming out that you are a mysterious man with a strange past and a fucked up love life."

He almost took out his wand.

"I was just guessing," she shrugged. "Don't blame _me_ if you're showing me stuff yourself. Come on, let's go. If I'm going to spend the night on the couch in your office, you'd better not attack me about everything I say."

He turned abruptly and started walking again.

"I think my boyfriend would be very proud of the way I handled Dumbledore up 'til now, at least," she said, still in a good mood, as they nearly ran down corridors. "And he _will_ be proud, if he actually listens to what I say. I think he does. I hope he does."

"Bad love affair?" Snape commented, trying again for the sarcasm. He felt like rubbing something in. Usually, he'd have just let her talking to herself like that for a long time.

"Not really. It's great," she answered with a shrug. "Well, it was. While it lasted. He died three years ago. But maybe ghosts listen, eh?"

Snape's pace modified just a little with remorse.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

She shrugged again. "I'm moving on, I guess. Sort of. I stopped crying some time ago. But I keep him with me at all times."

"I do hope you're not referring to any _piece _of him."

"Gods, no! That would be _disgusting_. No, I just hang on to the memories and talk to him in my head and imagine his replies. That sort of thing. Hurts like a _bitch_. Even now. Sometimes I wonder whether I'm not creating just an image of him which has less and less to do with reality and more and more to do with my own fucked up brains, you know?... I have memories of us in a pensieve and yet... it's... oh, gods... Well. He's becoming an idea for me. I miss him, but I'm not sure I still remember him... So I try to live in the present. It's something to hang on to, the present. Don't you agree?"

"No."

"Fair enough," she shrugged. "We all have our own anchors."

Snape waited for her to ask which were his. But she didn't. She seemed to be much more... sensible... once removed from Albus. In his office, he'd have happily strangled her. And the Headmaster, too. Ah, how the old coot had called him to "offer accommodations to our newest member" as if he were a hotel. The image of a post hung above his rooms saying "The Snapz" came unbidden into his mind. He bid it go away. It did. A good control of your own mind can be a wonderful thing, he decided.

And then, of course, he'd seen her – she had been almost jumping about with excitement in a childish way and had evidently taken candy from the Headmaster, because she was still eating it when he'd come in. Had nobody told her not to take candy from strangers?... Apparently not.

Well, he assumed that Albus wasn't exactly a stranger, but still. You never knew what he put in them. Because, even though it wasn't common knowledge, the Headmaster made his own sweets. That was why the majority of the faculty avoided them. You just never knew what he came up with next.

But the woman turned out to be thankfully normal and didn't say much for the rest of the evening, except to ask if she could please magic some drapes into existence and transfigure his couch for comfort. He had accepted. And then they'd had a late-night meal in his office, which led him to observe the fact that she became oblivious to surroundings when she thought profoundly. He couldn't explain the knocking of the spoon against a front tooth thoughtfully except for that. No questions, no silliness. He was relieved.

By the time he woke up next morning, his couch was restored to its original shape and a note had been left on it, thanking him for the lodgings and the meal and his kindness, "see you soon and all that". He almost smiled to himself.

Unobtrusiveness was one of the major qualities a human being could have.

Xxx

Hermione aka Rowena aka Rowena the person named after Rowena was _tired_. She hadn't slept enough on Snape's transfigured couch/bed and had to leave early enough to not bump into anybody in the Common Room and pretend she had been in the dorm after all. She knew it would only get more difficult as time went on, since older students tended to be more unruly and therefore were checked up on more often, but she would also have an excuse then – even if it happened to be _boys_.

She ignored Potter and Weasley at the table, although she noticed the eye-glassed boy receive a broomstick-shaped parcel (oh, goody, she thought, what could it be?... It's broomstick-shaped, and given to the son of a Quidditch star in Hogwarts and after the incident with Malfoy... why, it simply _must_ be a gun to shoot his enemies with!). She threw a sneaky glance at the Head Table and saw _something_ in Dumbledore's manner that made her realize that the old man had sent it. Well, it was nice, then, wasn't it?... Not that many people had given _her_ gifts so readily. Ever. Ah, the brilliance of being famous.

She also noticed Snape scowling darkly. Oh, _he_ knew who had sent it, too. And he didn't approve. No wonder there. Quidditch, Potters, gifts for being famous and Snape don't really mix well.

She noticed the boys running out of the Great Hall – more or less – and reluctantly decided to follow them. Who knew how much trouble they could get into in five minutes. She caught up with them up the stairs as they were enjoying their victory a bit _too_ much and bragging about having won it because of Malfoy.

"So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking rules?" she asked, hotly.

"I thought you weren't speaking to us?" Harry asked insolently.

"Yes, don't stop now, it's doing us so much good," Ron added, as proud as only an 11 year-old with a broomstick can be.

She didn't even reply to that, but stomped past them. Partly because her new persona demanded that, partly because she realized all of a sudden that she had forgotten her grown-up clothes on her bed and her roommates might scoop about (nasty curious buggers), so she had to make them scarce _quickly_.

Xxx

Time passed. Then Halloween came. And wasn't _that_ a mess?...

She acted her own bratty way in Charms and pissed off Ronald Weasley while also "showing off" a bit. But the truth was, she didn't feel up to her role at the moment, so she retreated from the first years' group and considered going to Snape as New Rowena and saying hello. Then she decided that it was a bad idea, given the day, so she wandered around the castle and finally decided that she could work on cultivating some special moss she'd discovered a few years' back. She went to her room, found the samples of it and decided that the best place to put the things was in a bathroom. So she chose one randomly – a convenient one – and put the thing in a hidden corner of a little-used stall, which she proceeded to spell in such a way as to be generally disregarded by students.

When she got out, she saw another girl in the bathroom, so she washed her hands and face for pseudo-hygienic purposes and left. On her way around the castle, she ran into Potter and Weasley, who were apparently commenting about her being horrible. So she pushed into Potter and stalked off. How impertinent of them! Then she wiped her face again, some of the water from the bathroom having been left on her face and – she realized – making her look as if she'd been crying. Ah, well.

During the Halloween feast, she returned to the bathroom to spell the moss location more carefully. After all, who could possibly run into her when they were in the Great Hall?... Of course, she lost track of time in between making spells perfect for both protection and secrecy. But, ah, well. Who cared?... It was just a feast.

And then. Well. Troll. In the bathroom.

She screamed. She screamed a high, piercing shriek that could probably be heard throughout the entire castle. Then she'd whipped out her wand again to fight him down. She _hated_ trolls.

And then the boys came in. Potter and Weasley, running in through the door. She put her wand back in her pocket, cursing under her breath and wishing she was as good with wandless magic as always.

"Confuse it!" Potter cried.

That was a good idea. She hastily threw a mild Confusing charm on the troll, who looked around distracted as Weasley cried things at it. Then she decided to finish the job and started jinxing it under her breath. It required concentration to do so subtly and...

Potter was pulling her hand.

"Run! Run!" he was crying. But she was almost... Gah, it was so close to _Weasley_ now!

Then Potter jumped at the troll, catching it from behind and in desperation of cause, her jinx broken, Hermione Rowena could only stare in disbelief as the boy's wand went up the creature's nose. She made a false step and crashed on her behind near the wall, cursing herself and then trying to jinx the thing _again_. She could do it. She could. But she cushioned the walls first, almost instantly, in case the troll decided to his his back to the wall.

And in that spare moment, Weasley used the levitation spell on the troll's club and took the thing out with its own weapon. Silence for a few moments as they all stared. 'I think I'm getting old,' Hermione thought. 'Too old for this.'

"Is it – dead?" she asked, incredulously.

"I don't think so," Potter answered. "I think it's just been knocked out."

Yes. That made more sense than being dead. But on the other hand, so did the two of them being saved by her, not the other way around, also made much more sense. She watched Potter wipe his wand on the troll's trousers. They probably had abso-fucking-lutely no idea in how much trouble they'd all just been. Neither did she, she figured. She should have thrown caution to the wind and Obliviated them later. Old, Rowena-Hermione, old, she told herself.

When McGonagall, livid with fury, Snape and Quirrell came in, she realized that they all had no business being there. Well, she figured. She could invent something. They'd come to save her, anyway. But how had they known about the troll being right there?... Ah. Those guilty looks on their faces. Their fault, then?... How unfortunate. Well, she had no idea why she was supposed to have been in the bathroom, but she quickly made up a story saying that she'd tried to bring down the troll on her own – which was true -, that she'd read all about them – true – and that Potter and Weasley had saved her in a most brilliant way. True again. Forget the moss. Nobody needed to know about the moss. The moss was her own until further notice.

On the way back, she was still trying to discover what the boys had thought she was doing in the bathroom, but they said nothing about it. It turned out, however, that it had been indeed them who had locked the troll in with her.

In the common room, they all said a thanks and then parted. But from then on, she treated them with a little more understanding. Sheer dumb luck in such proportions was usually, in her experience, a sign of greatness.

Xxx

AN: Well, there's the chapter. Please review?... Thank you!


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